Mated to the Wrong Alpha

☾ Ivy ☽

I know Jace Maddox doesn’t love me.

I know it while Marissa pins the last pearl into my hair with hands that shake from pride, not tenderness. I know it while Wade Brooks stands near the window, watching me like a contract he needs signed. I know it while Sloane smiles at me in the mirror.

She isn’t my sister by blood. She isn’t really my sister at all, but the Brooks family calls her that when there are witnesses, so I’ve learned to call her that too.

Sloane is golden where I’m pale. Honey-blonde hair. Bright blue eyes. A mouth that knows exactly when to soften. Her cream dress is simpler than mine, her pearls fewer, her hair pinned with just enough care to remind everyone she could’ve looked like the bride today. She doesn’t have to try.

That’s always been the worst part.

“There,” Marissa says, fastening one final pin with a sharp little push. “Try not to touch it. Your hair never holds shape the way Sloane’s does.”

Sloane lowers her lashes. “Mother.” The protest sounds almost kind.

Marissa gives her a fond look in the mirror, then turns those same eyes back on me. They sharpen at once.

“What?” she asks. “She knows what I mean.”

I do. Marissa smooths the veil over my shoulders. White silk slides down my back, cold as water.

“You’ve been given a place most girls would bleed for,” she says.

Her voice is low enough that the attendants can pretend not to hear. Wade hears. Sloane hears. I hear everything.

“I know,” I say.

Marissa’s fingers pause at the clasp near my throat. “Do you?”

I meet her eyes in the mirror. For a moment, I almost look like the bride they’ve dressed me to be. Pale gown, pearls, moonflower paste drying in a silver crescent around my wrist.

Pretty, maybe, as long as no one compares me to Sloane.

“I do,” I say.

Marissa’s mouth tightens. “Your mother already gave this family enough shame. Don’t add to it today.”

The room goes quiet in the way rooms do when everyone decides cruelty is easier to ignore than correct.

My throat closes, but I don’t look at Wade. He won’t defend me.

Sloane steps closer and rests a hand on my shoulder. Her perfume reaches me first, roses and sugar.

“You look lovely, Ivy,” she says. Her fingers squeeze once. “Almost like this was always meant for you.”

Almost. I smile because smiling is safer than answering. “Thank you.”

Wade clears his throat. “Enough. The council won’t wait for nerves.” Nerves.

It isn’t fear or dread. Nerves are smaller, cleaner.

A word a woman can swallow.

I turn from the mirror. The gown whispers around my ankles, beautiful in the way Brooks things are always beautiful when they belong to a purpose. Every pearl was chosen by Marissa. Every layer was approved by Wade. A Brooks bride. A Moon Council bride. The future Luna Queen. The floor seems farther away.

Wade steps in front of me. His public expression is already in place, all stern pride and fatherly gravity.

“Remember what you’re representing.”

He doesn’t say who.

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes move over my face. “Jace Maddox isn’t merely a groom. He’s the future Alpha King. The Moon Council selected you because your blood, uncertain as parts of it may be, was deemed compatible with the Maddox line. Don’t mistake selection for affection.”

The words press on bruises already made.

“I won’t.”

“Good.” His gaze shifts toward the door. “A Blood Match is an opportunity. A vow is an obligation. Your part is simple.”

Simple. Stand there. Be chosen. Become useful.

The attendant opens the dressing room door, and sound pours in. Low voices. Formal footsteps. The rustle of silk and wool.

Somewhere beyond the hall, the Moon Chamber waits.

Sloane kisses my cheek before I walk. Her lips barely touch my skin.

“Don’t tremble,” she whispers, still smiling. “People will say you’re frightened.”

I want to tell her I’m frightened.

Instead, I step into the corridor because love was never promised to me.

The Moon Council calls Jace and me a Blood Match. Not mates.

A Blood Match is colder than that. Rank, lineage, fertility, power. A calculation dressed in moonlight.

The vow comes next. Marriage by blood, moon, and law.

Jace and I aren’t mates. I know we’re not. Still, I’ve spent six months telling myself a vow can become enough. Protection. Position. A place secure enough that Marissa can no longer call me charity with her eyes.

The corridor opens into the Moon Chamber.

The ceiling rises high above us, ribbed with pale stone and glass panes that let the late moonlight spill down in silver strips. The great arch stands at the far end, carved with old vow runes and twined with moonflowers. White flames burn in shallow bowls along the aisle. Royal guards line both sides in black and silver.

Beyond them sit the pack leaders.

Every powerful wolf in the kingdom is watching.

My bare feet touch the first cold stone of the aisle, and I don’t stumble. That’s the first victory.

The whispers begin before I’m halfway down. Beautiful gown. So pale. Nervous thing.

Sloane would’ve carried the veil better. I keep walking.

At the altar, Jace Maddox waits beneath the silver arch.

He’s beautiful in the cruel way beloved men often are. Dark blond hair. Royal black coat. Gold at his throat. Blue eyes clear and calm, as if nothing in the world has ever been allowed to truly wound him. He looks at me. Then past me. Only once. Toward Sloane.

It’s quick enough that anyone else might miss it. I don’t.

My stomach folds in on itself, but I walk until I stand before him.

Jace’s gaze returns to mine. For a second, his expression almost softens. Elder Rowan drapes the vow ribbon over our hands, and Jace adjusts it with two careful fingers so it lies flat against my skin.

The touch is small. Gentle, even. My foolish heart notices. I hate it for that.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Jace doesn’t answer. Elder Rowan steps between us, ancient and narrow in his silver robes. His white hair is braided down his back, and the ceremonial blade catches the moonlight when he lifts it.

“The Moon Council stands witness,” he says.

“By blood, by law, by vow, and by moon, Prince Jace Maddox, heir to the Alpha throne, comes before the packs to accept the chosen bride found compatible with his line.”

Chosen bride. Compatible. Close enough to wanted if I don’t look too hard.

Elder Rowan turns slightly toward me. “Ivy Brooks, daughter of the Brooks household, comes before the packs to accept her place beside the future Alpha King.” Daughter of the Brooks household.

The wording is polite, which makes it worse.

The moonflower paste on my wrist pulls tight as it dries. Beneath the ribbon, Jace’s pulse is steady. Mine isn’t.

I tell myself I can do this. I can be calm. I can be useful. I can be enough.

Elder Rowan raises the blade over our joined hands.

“Before the moon and witness, Prince Jace Maddox, do you accept Ivy Brooks as your Luna by vow, law, and blood?”

The hall holds its breath. I look at Jace.

For one foolish heartbeat, I hope. Then he says, “No.” The word is small, but the ruin it leaves isn’t.

Elder Rowan’s blade lowers an inch. “Your Highness.”

Jace pulls his hand from mine. The ribbon slips loose.

Someone gasps, and the sound moves through the room before I can breathe around it.

Jace steps back, but only far enough to make sure everyone sees the space between us.

“I refuse the vow,” he says.

This time, his voice carries. The bridal flowers tremble in my hand. I stare at the empty air where his fingers used to be, and a terrible part of me wants him to put them back. Not because I love him.

Because the entire kingdom is watching.

Wade sits in the front row with the Brooks crest over his heart. Marissa stares at me as if my rejection is another chore I failed to perform correctly. Sloane stands behind them in cream silk, beautiful enough to make every wolf in this room wonder why the council chose me.

I’ve spent my whole life learning how not to be a problem.

Jace has just made me one.

“This is irregular,” Elder Rowan says.

“It’s honest,” Jace answers.

Honest. The word nearly makes me laugh.

Jace stands beneath the arch like a prince in a portrait. The future Alpha King. The favorite son. The kind of man people forgive before he apologizes.

“My future Luna should strengthen the throne,” he says. “Ivy doesn’t.”

The first tear tries to rise.

I crush it before it can shame me.

A whisper starts near the right side of the hall.

“Rejected.”

Another follows.

“At the altar.”

“Poor thing.”

“Poor? Her sister would’ve been better.”

The words move like cold fingers beneath my veil. I should ask him why. My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

Wade’s voice cuts from the front row. “Ivy.” It isn’t comfort. It’s a warning.

Stand straight. Don’t cry. Don’t embarrass us more.

My fingers tighten around the moon lilies until a stem snaps.

Sloane presses a hand to her lips. Her lashes lower, and for a heartbeat, I almost believe she hurts for me.

Then I see the small hidden curve at the corner of her mouth. Of course Jace wanted her. Everyone wants Sloane first.

The elders gather in a tight circle, their robes whispering over the altar stone. Above us, the silver arch flickers once, then twice. The ribbon at my feet darkens at the edges, and the moonflower paste on my wrist burns cold.

Open moon magic smells like ash, iron, and storm.

Elder Rowan turns back to Jace, and his expression is no longer gentle. “The rite has opened. A royal vow can’t be left unanswered before moonset. Not without debt.” Debt. Jace’s mouth tightens.

Something cracks through his perfect control. It isn’t guilt. It’s calculation, and he knew this would happen.

The look he gives the dark western pillars tells me he didn’t come beneath the arch without a replacement already chosen. He planned for the debt. He simply never planned for me to matter inside it.

The vow debt doesn’t fall on me alone. If the royal rite fails, the Maddox line carries the stain. Jace’s claim, his future, his perfect throne, all of it’ll be touched by the refusal he chose to speak in front of witnesses.

He didn’t reject me without a way out.

He only rejected me without caring where that way would leave me.

“There’s another Maddox Alpha present,” Jace says.

Attention shifts around the room. The whispers stop. The guards straighten. One of the lesser pack leaders lowers his eyes toward the floor. Even Sloane’s little smile falters. I know before I turn.

Everyone knows.

At the western pillars, where the moonlight doesn’t quite reach, Roman Maddox stands alone.